


real facial

by Jelevy (YogurtTime), thunderylee



Category: KAT-TUN (Band)
Genre: Bukkake, Canon Universe, Facials, Gangbang, Group Sex, M/M, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Threesome - M/M/M, recreational narcotics, snowball - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-21
Updated: 2011-07-21
Packaged: 2019-01-28 00:07:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12593616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YogurtTime/pseuds/Jelevy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderylee/pseuds/thunderylee
Summary: Five times Kame gets it in the face, and one time he gets five at once.





	real facial

**Author's Note:**

> reposted from agck. written for je_devilorangel 2011.

> 1\. (up in the hot tub, poppin’ bubbly)

“Hey, watch it-”

“Incoming!”

Jin shrieks right in Kame’s ear, but the latter’s frown is directed more toward the steaming, soapy floods of water sloshing on the floor from Yamapi’s impromptu cannonball.

“We are not in a pool, Yamashita,” Kame says, wiping the bubbles out of his eyes.

“Oh  _relax_ , Kazu,” Jin says, giggling as he shoves Kame playfully across the jacuzzi tub. “This isn’t even your house.”

Kame looks down to see half of Yamapi’s face underwater, his hair pushed up into a peak as he eyeballs Kame and slowly approaches. He’s humming what could only be the Jaws theme as he gets closer and closer, trailing an ominous path of bubbling ripples around him while Jin howls in laughter and Kame just backs up against the side of the tub.

Then Yamapi breaks the surface, scoops more bubbles into his hands, and blows them right in Kame’s face. “Chu~”

It stings a little, frothy suds slipping between his eyelashes. “How old are you,” Kame says flatly as he wipes his eyes  _again_.

He was actually talking to Yamapi, but Jin’s the one who answers. “Old enough to buy  _this_.”

Both Kame and Yamapi’s eyes widen as Jin pulls a bottle of champagne from the floor. “Ooh,” says Yamapi. “It sparkles.”

“This is a bad idea,” Kame says, but as usual no one listens to him. Jin is already trying to pull the cork out, then Yamapi grabs the end of the bottle to hold, and the whole scene is comedic enough for Kame to laugh as he snatches the bottle. “You twist it, idiots.”

Those two wouldn’t know class if it hit them in the nose, Kame thinks, and then the cork pops out to unleash the pressurized alcohol right on  _his_  nose. His demonstration is followed by a pair of loud, annoying giggles, making him even more frustrated as he squints to keep from getting any of it in his eye.

“I hope you laugh so hard you drown,” he tells them both, but of course he doesn’t mean it. “Here.”

He thrusts out the bottle and someone grabs it, probably Jin judging by Yamapi’s whine. Kame ignores them, dunking his head to scrub his face, and when he resurfaces, the bottle is back in his hand.

“Your turn,” they say in unison, both grinning at him like a creepy pair of twins.

Technically Kame’s not old enough to drink yet, but he’s pretty sure it’s not illegal if he’s at home. Never mind that it’s not  _his_  home. At least they’re not doing it on the street, right? Peer pressure runs rapid within Johnny’s and Kame has learned that it’s just easier to give in, particularly when it involves the Pin tag team. Besides, the worst that could happen is that one of them could drown, but there are three of them. Strength in numbers or something.

The liquid goes down his throat just as it looks in the bottle, smooth and bubbly. Jin lets out a belch and they snicker, even Kame giving a few chuckles as the champagne warms his belly. He’s drank before, but it was much more responsibly. There was nothing responsible about he, Jin, and Yamapi passing around a bottle of champagne in Yamapi’s mom’s new jacuzzi tub that he just bought her.

If there’s one thing that Kame has in common with those two, it’s impatience, which has them draining the bottle as quickly as they can. Already his head is spinning and he grabs onto Jin’s arm just to stay still, closing his eyes in an attempt to make it stop. It works, but now he’s very aware of Jin next to him, his face pressed into the warm, wet skin of Jin’s bicep.

“Oh man,” Yamapi’s saying, sounding so far, far away. “You guys have to sit on these jets. It feels ama~zing.”

Kame can hear Jin’s voice through his arm. “ _Sit_  on it? That’s gross, Pi.”

“No, it feels really good,” Yamapi argues. “Don’t be a prude, Jin.”

Never one to be outdone, Jin pulls his arm out of Kame’s grasp and joins Yamapi on the floor of the tub. The next noise he makes is obscene– something torn between one of his high melodic tones and a wanton grazing exclamation– and Kame’s eyelids pry open to see three Jins with their heads tossed back in ecstasy, mouths parted to emit heavy breathing as the jet undoubtedly hits him between the legs.

“Ka~me~” Yamapi calls, and Kame’s head sloshes as he turns toward his name. “Come down here~”

“I can’t move,” Kame mumbles, but Yamapi pulls on his leg and he slides off of the seat, nearly going under. He ends up in Yamapi’s lap, eyes widening despite his intoxication because Yamapi’s  _hard_  and he lets out this deep moan when Kame bumps it with his leg.

He’s not sure what makes him shiver, the noise or the way it feels to have someone  _else’s_  erection twitch against his skin, but he doesn’t have much time to dwell on it before he feels soft, bow-shaped lips on his. He gasps, grabbing onto Yamapi’s shoulders for balance, and it’s Kame who leans in for seconds. This time he tastes Yamapi’s champagne-soaked tongue and feels hands on his back, sliding down to his hips and pulling him close enough to notice that Yamapi’s not the only one who’s aroused.

“He~ey,” Jin whines, his voice piercing Kame’s clouded mind as the youngest straddles Yamapi’s lap. “Share.”

Kame’s not sure which one he’s talking to, but it really doesn’t matter as another set of hands wrap around him and Jin presses against him from behind. He’s breathing into the back of Kame’s neck and it would be annoying if it wasn’t so  _hot_ , particularly when Jin’s cock settles neatly between the cheeks of his ass, just as hard as the other two.

Then there’s a hand in his hair and he’s pulled away from Yamapi’s mouth, his neck nearly twisting around to meet Jin’s overeager lips and tongue. Jin kisses like he plays and talks, jumping right in and thinking about it later. His hand reaches down to stroke both Kame and Yamapi’s lengths together, swallowing Kame’s moans while Yamapi’s echo off the blank tile walls.

A hot mouth latches onto his neck, licking and sucking and nibbling, and Kame moves back and forth between the two, wanting to feel everything at once. Yamapi’s hand comes to rest on top of Jin’s, squeezing the heads of their cocks while Jin fists the shafts, and Kame has to tear his mouth away and straighten his neck as the warmth in his belly starts to spread all throughout his body.

Jin’s grinding against him harder now, grunting like he’s actually inside him, the sound muffled by what Kame discovers to be Yamapi’s mouth as he focuses through his blurry vision. He becomes fascinated by their kissing, tongues clearly visible as they seem to be panting into each other’s mouths more than anything, and Kame moans out loud as he starts to shake with his inevitable prelude to orgasm.

Just before he comes, Jin and Yamapi break apart and press their mouths to his neck, peppering his throat and collarbone with wet, breathy kisses and he feels both of them pulse with him, Jin rubbing off on the base of his spine while Yamapi and Kame release into Yamapi’s palm. They remain sandwiched as they rock together, riding the high with Kame in the middle and their senses heightened by the champagne, and Kame smiles as he relaxes between them.

Then Yamapi splashes him in the face, and he can’t help but laugh with them.

> 2\. (If your day is gone, and you wanna ride on: cocaine)

At some point in his youth, Kame had been thrust into an existence that was wavering between the high beam torch light of the public and the bleeding expectations of his fans. Kame hadn’t even been introduced to the concept of a day off in over a year.

Thus on a Friday nearing December, Kame stares at the empty space in his planner usually littered with his manager’s black ink scrawl of appointments, bookings, and appearances– expectations. A dry ice block of two days; just negative space as it were.

The prospect of sitting with the usual suspects chills him, knowing they’d want to talk work, all of them still keyed up over music and dance rehearsals– the brimming Promise Land of fame. They don’t get it yet, fame is work and they are entirely too young to bask. He can still catch glimpses of the lingering vestiges of normality and Kame quickly realises he wants to savour this day-long second of just being Kazuya.

He wants down time, but he doesn’t want to be alone.

Alone, he knows he’ll wind up going home to lie flat on his back, staring at apartment walls he hasn’t had the time to decorate. He’ll crave some type of recognition for the barest of daily accomplishments and it’ll be  _so meaningless_. He needs to be around someone who can talk shallow, someone to streamline conversation like it’s nothing, make jokes he can laugh at without prioritised obligation.

He doesn’t really know Taguchi all that well despite the known repetitives such as how he insists on calling him, “Kazuya,” and how ridiculously easy he is. Easy in the way that pretty boys raised in Yokohama could be, easy in the way that Kame likes.

“I want some down time; let’s go to your place,” he’d said stiffly that afternoon, roping Taguchi’s arm through his own.

“Sure!” Taguchi had replied, all sing-song, smiling a glint of purity; unflappable as Kame dragged him to his car.

It’s why he’s huddled down on the floor of Taguchi’s living room at three a.m. tossing back bottles of Guinness with the television on low.

He doesn’t get to order people around that often and Taguchi just does exactly as he’s told. So if Kame wants to sit in nothing but shorts and a tank top and drink on a Friday/Saturday with nothing to do but empty a case or two, then that’s what they’re going to do. Easy.  
Or rather he’s convinced himself in that regard.

Taguchi hums a familiar tune, bottle tip just on the edge of his lower lip as he rummages in a bag distractedly. Kame isn’t paying attention until a metal glass plate with a clear straw clatters on the coffee table and a large packet filled with something starch-like and powdery rolls over in pure little crumbs, the packaged plastic crinkles over the wooden surface.

“Wh-what…are you doing?” he says, a little bleary, maybe already tipsy. He’s tired and Guinness is bitter enough to swallow too quickly.

“Down time,” Taguchi murmurs plainly, the rims of his dark eyes red already from the drink. “This is my Friday night, Kazuya.”

Kame stares blankly as Taguchi pours a careful line along the mirrored plate, using a card to straighten it, sliding the powder into the middle with a small smile. Kame isn’t familiar with drugs as a whole besides the proverbial finger-wag in their direction and the government-approved commercials on TV, so he starts to feel the drunken equivalent to scandalized. “Taguchi…” he begins, unsure how to address this.

“It’s just recreational. A party in a little line of powder…” His long legs part as he lays the plate on the table and leans down, straw positioned just on the inside of his left nostril. It’s like watching a backward play of one of those beach sand art videos. Taguchi breathes in and the translucent straw floods milky and empties in a second before he leans back, limbs splayed, head dropping on the headrest of the couch, a ring of dark brown hair fringed his forehead.

Kame just stares, bringing his bottle to his lips absently.

Once Taguchi opens his eyes, he’s smiling all lazy-like. His usually sharp, knife-like smile is smooth, a strangely relieving ache as his stun-glitter eyes rest complacently on Kame. There’s something about the sleepiness of that expression and the slack way his lips curl upward that trigger a slice of unease down Kame’s spine. He’s seen Taguchi like this, moments after their concerts, their deadest moments of come-down; silent, tense seconds during their first days in the same group– Taguchi was one of the few that went quiet when they fought, watching languid, as if their arguments were fascinating lines of divide going down the room– and something in that moment sort of begins to make sense.

“Where…do you get it?” Kame murmurs doubtfully, eyeing the package on the table.

Taguchi groans when he shifts, stretching himself out further before he makes what seems a great deal of effort to merely open his mouth. “I met this girl at that billiard place I go to after work. She’s pretty cute and she’s always handing me stuff like this. It’s a great stress reliever and this way I don’t have to take my pills.”

Kame nods. He’s heard rumours about Taguchi’s anti-depressants and knows not to ask too much about it. And how true it is, all the tenures of Taguchi’s edge have loosened as he sits back on the sofa,

“How do you do…it?” he asks from his spot on the floor, crossing his legs. It seems not so much cool, since it is  _Taguchi_ after all, but on the subject of release and winding downward, it just looks like an all-around good time. Besides, it’s his private time and no one really has to know.

Taguchi looks at him a little speculatively, sparkling gaze open and burning as he seems to size Kame up and it’s one of the first times Kame can ever recall feeling self-conscious around him. “Yeah, I can show you. It’s easy.”

Something about Taguchi’s smile is like a blanket, all bright teeth in the dim florescent light of his living room. He pats the cushion beside him and Kame scrambles up, setting his bottle on the coffee table before plopping himself comfortably beside Taguchi’s long frame. “Think of it like a thrill you only have to breathe in. Don’t think about what comes after; it’s the seconds that matter…”

“OK…”

The packet gets poured, a neat thin row along the mirror palette. Taguchi’s hard fingers close on his small wrist as he drops the straw into his palm. Taguchi pauses, thumb running along the vein on Kame’s wrist, and a little startled, Kame glances at him side-long.

How his eyes are dark– endless yet searing with intent. “I’ve always liked your skin, Kazuya,” he whispers. “Even though you work so hard, your skin’s always been soft…”

Kame laughs, unable to shake his sudden embarrassment. “When have you ever felt my skin?”

Taguchi’s gaze flickers at him, mouth curling up. “I have,” he says simply. “Just run the tube along the line and breathe in through one nostril.” His finger taps Kame’s nose a little candidly. “And you’re set for lift-off.”

Kame smiles with some bemusement, hesitant.

Fingers brush over his back a little soothingly, trailing a faint pattern of parallels up his tailbone upward. “You can’t spell rocket without coke, you know.”

His laugh is airy, but he leans down. He isn’t a coward. He does it. Perfectly. The first time.

“As expected of a star,” Taguchi mutters languidly, fingers still playing up Kame’s back.

Kame  _sees_  stars, harsh burning bright lights the fine delicacy of snow as his mind ploughs through the fuzziness, feeding him with languor and energy all at once. “That’s fantastic,” he sighs, not noticing how Taguchi smirks and pours three rails wordlessly.

“Eight more and those lights will dance.”

It’s simple then, another hurdle of the unfamiliar to cross since his crossover into being a man of showbiz. Taguchi laughs at him when he goes for his third line, reeling and teetering on a foothold edge. However, as much as the world around him shines and becomes carved with promises and potential, something darting and sensual fires its way in his veins. He sits back near Taguchi, feeling this dance ache down him, alighting on the tips of his fingers and toes.

“Mm, what’s happening to me?” he moans, head sinking back on the arm of the sofa.

It doesn’t help much, then, Taguchi dragging him back playfully. Kame, mind rising– something like his entire being floating out the top of his scalp—finds himself pressed against Taguchi’s sharp shoulder with sure arms coming up around his thighs, fingers kneading his ass.

“It’s called  _feeling_ , Kazuya. And it’ll feel good.”

Just a heated distant murmur like that and Kame doesn’t remember having closed his eyes. Taguchi scatters quick kisses up the v-neck of his tank top, hot pecks wetter as he gets closer to Kame’s throat. Kame, feeling like silk and riding glazed on this new mountain of sugar-cloud dream, automatically reaches up and curls his fingers in Taguchi’s black hair, opening his mouth in time to meet Taguchi’s tongue.

It’s a bit sloppy as Taguchi kisses with reckless, breathless enthusiasm, but Kame finds it hard to care about more than one thing at once in this state. Taguchi pulls him closer until Kame’s straddling his thighs, thoroughly distracted by hands sliding up his chest, pads of fingertips rubbing insistent circles over his nipples. Kame clutches against the longer strands of Taguchi’s hair, exploring the inside of Taguchi’s mint and bitter-flavoured mouth meeting his tongue again and again, closing his lips over Taguchi’s lower lip when there’s a minute desperate pause.

He only realises he’s hard when he unconsciously starts to rock, trying to gain some friction against the bulge now growing under Taguchi’s pants. He curls his arms around Taguchi’s neck, riding up on him a bit higher until they fit together, heat over heat, his hard cock dragging a rolling hip circle in a gritted, grudging slide over Taguchi’s.

“Nngh…” Taguchi says hopefully into his mouth, hands slipping out of Kame’s tank top to curl over his knee caps, tugging him tighter against him. “One more line, Kazuya. Let’s make a dream.”

Still grinding into him helplessly, Kame can only gasp, “Okay…” into Taguchi’s jaw.

Reluctantly Kame unwinds his arms and lets Taguchi turn him around and he still sits on his thighs, hands braced on strong knees as he leans forward to pick up the straw again. He wants to pour a perfect square of it before pushing the rail, but Taguchi forces the back of his tanktop upwards and descends on his spine, tongue dragging wet, hungry patterns downwards.

Normally, that’d probably only feel mildly erotic, but in this shining, elastic state, the furious thrill goes straight to his dick.

“Ah, that feels so…I can’t do this with you doing that…” Kame manages, but he’s shuddering, and he falls forward on the coffee table. He braces his palms on the table’s edge, legs barely fitting into the tight space between the narrow couch and the smooth blackwood table.

Taguchi whisper-chuckles breathe on his back. “Do your line; I’ll get you ready…”

Kame vaguely registers these words, knowing what it means since Taguchi’s already pushing him forward, dragging his shorts down. He holds himself up with one hand, blearily reaching for the open packet of powder crack. It’s while he’s pouring it, watching it fall in fluff-like crumbs in his starlight glazed state that he hears the pop of a cap being flipped open. Somehow it seems sensible to him at the time to let Taguchi pull his shorts all the way down to his ankles and to step out of them because he’s just entirely too  _busy_  trying to even out his own line.

Kame’s just positioning the straw against his nostril when he feels a hot and slick finger slip between the crease of his ass. He thinks he makes an aching, nervous sound when the tip of one of Taguchi’s fingers pulls him open, poking just on the inside of his rim.

“Ah..”

“Go ahead, Kazuya. I’ll wait for you.”

He doesn’t really get it, but his legs are spread, one palm braced on the table and getting steadily sweatier with the delirium of both the imbalance and his face positioned just over the coke straw. He places the tip on the right end of the line and with a sharp gasp as a finger invades him, pushing not so far in– still stretching something– he feels the light fire glance of the fine silken powder fly up into his septum and somewhere up above.

The lights of outside and the television beam up at Kame. It’s like being on stage, he thinks as it nearly burns him, but he rocks back involuntarily. Taguchi’s trying two fingers now and the coke straw slips from his fingers. The lube is thick, but Taguchi’s going fast, sliding inside him with both fingers twisted together, now scissoring and going deeper. He has no time to close the plastic package of powder; he feels loose, wet, and already so filled with the fingers widening him, stretching him now frantically.

It hurts a little, but there’s a liquid sumptuousness to it that makes Kame’s knees bend as he rests his other palm on the other side of the table and he feels Taguchi rise behind him. His head reels, bleeding colours and ferocity boiling his blood. “Taguchi,  _hurry_ ,” he says without thinking, a little snappishly. It singes him then– realising how much he wants to feel the stretch of Taguchi’s cock inside him– while there is this feathering glitter behind his eyelids; while he feels this invincible and delicious.

Kame hears the crinkle of some packet being opened and Taguchi’s halted groan as he slides the condom on himself, thumb still digging against Kame’s loose, wet opening.

He only realises how much he wants– _needs_ — this when the head of Taguchi’s cock presses on his slick rim, digging in slowly, cautiously until he feels an oily ache of his hole widening, round and swallowing as Taguchi groans, pushing in as carefully as he can manage. Kame’s fingers curl over the table, leaving a condensation of moisture where his fingertips were.

Taguchi pauses, almost uncertainly, hand sliding up Kame’s bare back to curl into his shoulder to pull Kame back against him. With a sharp, aching ingression, he fills Kame, who only bends further forward over the table, eyes shut through this penetration.

“Don’t make me wait,” Kame hears himself hiss because this is somehow better than it’s ever been and from the way he’s bent forward, knees only straightening so he can press back against Taguchi, he feels like he’s tasting this thrill of being so coiled tight around someone.

And then it isn’t careful anymore. Taguchi snaps his hips forward and Kame has to brace his palms harder against the table so he doesn’t slide too far forward from the force of it. One. Two. Three. Hitting him mercilessly with each disjointed, patterned thrust. Taguchi’s hold on his shoulder tightens, hips grinding in desperate twists every time he comes in. Kame uses his hold against the brace of the table to grind himself backward, soon meeting Taguchi’s rhythm. He’s never had it so hard and the bare, pale sparkles near the edges of his vision crown near his lashes every time he opens his eyelids.

He hikes himself backward, cantering himself up a little at a compulsive angle and Taguchi’s other palm flattens right in the dip below his stomach, perfecting something right then because it’s a glowstick sensation of a very prime press, deep inside him, some pulsing point. Kame starts to gasp, voiced and slightly high cries with each delicious hit. Wants to tell Taguchi to keep hitting there and harder, but he opens his mouth to moan, fingers sliding further against the smooth table while Taguchi grunts against him, the slap of his skin against Kame’s filling the quiet room.

He feels it practically pummeled out of him, the milky percussion of a salty cry from deep in his throat as his cock feels as if it’s being rubbed on the inside and every silken sensation drooling through his veins during this damp, sweaty moment pulls him to the edge of his tether. Kame screws his eyes shut as his arms tremble from the weight of both of them and his own sudden, ripping orgasm.

The smacking noise of Taguchi’s hips against his ass is punctuated by the high-pitched edgy slide of his palms slipping from their grasp on the table. Still rocking from a moaning climax, Kame can’t manage to regain his hold and it happens too quickly to stop.

“Nnngh–ah- ooof!”

Kame’s knees buckle and it might as well be flour from the way it softens the blow of going in face-first. The package explodes around his cheeks and it’d hurt except Taguchi still works him from behind and the glaze of his orgasm still roars through his middle. Kame scrambles, a cloud settling around them as he pushes his face out of the pile of cocaine, still dizzy from his climax and ears now ringing as Taguchi still pushes in. Taguchi, not noticing Kame’s abrupt incident, just rides through his own gasping release before he shudders to a slowing rub, stomach sliding against Kame’s tailbone with these soft, muttering moans.

When Taguchi’s done and still, Kame, grimacing and trying to dust the cocaine away from his eye area, groaning a little. Taguchi’s shaking with laughter, too spent and sated to make a sound even as his skin rakes against Kame’s with his shuddering chuckles.

“It’s not funny!” He tries to sound stern, but he knows his cheeks must be caked with it and therefore he must look so ridiculous. His head is spinning, but he can feel his own susceptibility to Taguchi’s contagious chortles.

He winds up using Taguchi’s shirt to wipe his nose clean, spitting out the very bitter pasty taste of the cocaine on his tongue. Taguchi, still helpless with laughter, leans forward and blows a breeze of air over his face. It’s too strong and it gets the silky crumbs of it on the table too. It’s the way the substance clouds up with a bit of a floofing sound around both of them that makes Kame’s lips twitch, a reluctantly genuine smile spreading.

Warmth floods his body even though he can’t feel his face.

> 3\. (ain’t no colour paint gonna cover the stains)

It’s kind of runny.

“Magnolia” the tipped-over can reads in generic black print where the colour label sits.

And “magnolia” just looks like pearl to Kame, the way it pools out like that. It’s very runny. The way that latex paint will always sort of coat things, plastering itself all sticky-like over surfaces. The mixture is runny, though, and it’s part of why Kame can’t help fixing a scowl at Koki across the room.

Koki throws him a sheepish grin, which does little to phase Kame’s withering expression. Painting his bedroom was supposed to be a quick job with the three of them. Especially that it’s Koki  _and_  Maru. When they first started about three hours ago, they could all laugh and joke, but now: hot, sticky and wearing coveralls that allow for so little ventilation, Koki is the only one still capable of silliness.

“Can we keep the paint on the  _wall_ , please,” Kame ends up snapping.

The floor is covered with a clear plastic tarp that makes a harsh crunching noise as Koki strides over, his own coveralls criss-crossed with wet paint patterns. He waves his paint roller vaguely. “I’ll just dip it in here,” Koki finally says in a deliberately light, musing tone, tongue poking out as he bends over to press the paint roller in the spilt pool. “We could even slap the tarp on the wall, give it a splatter art motif.”

Kame rubs his bare arm over his forehead, and is a little peeved because now he’s sure he just got paint there.

Judging by the squinty-eyed amused look on Koki’s face, his worries are confirmed. “I hear there’s a style of art that uses the body as a brush.” He gives Kame an almost cavilling once-over, which is just annoying at this point.

“Just quit goofing off; I want to get this done today!” says Kame, looking over at Maru with the hope that another eye of admonition might keep Koki in check.

Maru has his back to them, serenely sliding his own roller in a gleaming, wet line up Kame’s wall. They’re both sort of surprised when he speaks. “Guys…” he just says. It’s the tired exasperation that makes Kame shut up immediately. Something about earning Maru’s soft tone of genuine disdain just makes him uneasy, self-conscious even. He wants to protest since he wasn’t even the one…

It’s too hot. Heat makes him juvenile.

“Yeah, yeah, all right,” Koki sighs, walking over to his assigned wall.

Kame watches him, he’d admit, a little haughtily. With Koki, everything’s a joke, a contest or an interpretation. Either way, Kame sometimes wishes he’d just be serious.

Almost as if on a wordless cue, Koki catches Kame eyeing him. He glances at Maru– already half done his wall– and his sharp eyebrows quirk before he proceeds, then, to paint out a rude word in English. Kame can almost feel the snap of his last nerve.

Of course since hollering at Koki would only gain a reproving remark from Maru’s back, Kame does the next best thing. He flicks one of the smaller brushes, dripping with all that runny magnolia, at Koki’s shoulder. The brush end of it gets its mark and Koki whirls around in surprise. Kame smirks and goes back to stirring his own can of paint. Seriously, this brand is too runny.

It’s the crunching noise of the tarp behind him that alerts him of Koki’s abrupt approach. He regrets turning the moment the rough bristles of the same brush scrape over the tip of his nose.

The paint dribbles down the side of his nose, over his jaw line. He’d later remember the amusement dying on Koki’s face due to his own expression Kame himself couldn’t see. It’s caught somewhere between outrage and his usual trigger of competition mixed with a tiny thrill at how abruptly contrite Koki looks.

“I didn’t actually mean to get you in the face,” he says quickly, stepping back. “Just saying.”

These words catch Maru’s attention and he turns to look at the two of them, eyebrows high on his forehead. Kame’s already wrenched the paintbrush from Koki’s fist and he ignores Maru’s loud protest as he dips the brush into his can and makes to give Koki a good dose of it.

Kame never pegged Maru as the type with snap-decision reflexes. Point in fact;  _Maru_  probably wouldn’t even peg himself as liable to act impulsively like that. Some odd and inexplicable instinct to leap to Koki’s defence could be the only explanation for the instinctive split second it takes for him to slide across the plastic tarp, heel striking the paint can just as Kame makes his advance. Kame has his hand back to offer Koki a sharp slap of paint so he’s off balance to begin with; the side of his flailing foot shoves the paint can forward. On a momentum, the can is booted upward, tumbling in a swoop over their heads.

The rain of it strikes Koki mostly and the splattering sound it makes as it lands in a thick, goopish pearly splash over his shoulder– slash of paint on the side of his bald head, and down his front– makes both Maru and Kame wince.

Koki looks morose and the three of them stand in a circle of heavy silence before Maru mutters, “You should probably take off the coveralls now before it dries with you still in them.”

Normal as this sounds to Kame, Koki looks a little alarmed. “What, like, take it  _all_  off?” He looks between the two of them speculatively, like this is some type of conspiracy.

Maru steps back in a still moment of clarity, looking Koki up and down. “Koki, are you not wearing anything under that?”

Kame uses his sleeve to wipe at the drying paint on his nose. “That explains why you’ve been airy and cheerful all day.” He lowers his arm. Seeing Koki covered in paint is a bit gratifying; he isn’t much angry anymore. “You’ve barely broken a sweat.”

“Nope,” Koki says, and without any warning he unzips his coveralls and pushes it off his bare shoulders to his waist, revealing his naked chest, a few flecks of paint drying on the side of his throat.

It seems natural for Kame to reach out and wipe that away with his thumb, but Maru gets there first, long pretty finger sliding over Koki’s bare skin. Koki shoots a burning grin at Maru at the contact. Maru rolls his eyes, but Kame is taken aback when Koki closes the distance between them and reaches for Maru.

Kame’s seen them kiss before, but it’s usually out of the corner of his eye or when he’s walked into a room without knocking. It always looked casual– not even romantic kisses– just sudden and always sort of like an intermission from the everyday, the pair of them. Now it’s right in front of him and Maru must be tired because his efforts to resist out of embarrassment are weak, reluctant as Koki opens his mouth over Maru’s.

Kame stares as he watches Koki’s tongue slip between Maru’s suddenly hungry lips, watches Maru drop his paint roller to brace his hands on Koki’s arms, sliding palms up comfortably until they’re locked around each other, creating a cacophony of shameless wet sounds and moist hungry breaths.

There’s something fascinating about seeing Maru like this, loose and sort of indifferent to the attention he’s garnered from Kame’s end. The fact that in this short frame of time his cheeks have flushed and Koki’s quick, rash nibbles have rendered his already plump lips deeply rouged.

“Um,” Kame finally says, well aware of his own reluctance to stop them.

Koki’s hand slips down to Maru’s wrist as he pulls away, And Kame has no time to think or move before Koki leans over presses his lips to his. He tastes and smells like something fruity and– odd as it is– freshness. And his bare skin, shaded from the heat of the sun spilling from outside, is cool. The relief of it alerts Kame to the very reason Maru gave in to that last kiss; the same reason why Kame drops his own paint brush and lets Koki wriggle closer to him, chest to chest. Their proximity makes it well-known to Kame, then, that–yeah– Koki’s got nothing on under those coveralls.

The brush of another nose on his cheek makes Kame pull back and there’s Maru, already accepting him into his mouth, hard fingers cupping his jaw to pull him in his direction. Maru kisses like he’s curious, studying the inside of Kame’s mouth with his tongue, scraping faint, glancing,  _thrilling_  patterns over his own, against the inside of his lip. He feels this as Koki’s small fingers dance around his waist, come up behind him.

There’s no sense to it, but it’s always best when he doesn’t need to add rhyme or reason to the fact that his senses are rocking him out exhaustion with Koki massaging his sore back. Maru’s fingers invade the collar of his coveralls, brushing his shoulder and squeezing when Kame leans forward into the kiss. He’s lost in it and accepts Koki’s hands sliding down around him, fiddling with his zipper until his coveralls drop to the floor and Maru doesn’t pull away.

From behind, Koki drags the waistband of Kame’s shorts down, cool hand slipping against his buttocks, lips trailing reverent kisses along his shoulder while Kame lets Maru devour his lips. He feels the instant, frenzied rub of it, Koki’s dick through his coveralls brushing intently along the upper curvature of his ass. He groans his encouragement right into Maru’s mouth, but the sound is halted when, in an exploratory gesture, Maru reaches into Kame’s shorts, fingers searching.

Koki’s insistent graze of friction heat against his back pushes him forward. His hands land with a smack against the wet paint wall, his palms digging into the layers. His resigned protest dies when Maru gets a handful of his scrotum, cupping it in his shorts warmly, or if it can be said, affectionately. Koki’s breaths are turning to shudders as he grinds recklessly, the fabric of his coveralls running a hot brand right into Kame’s crevice.

It’s a moist massage, long finger grazing him right beneath his balls, that sensitive strip of skin making him lean in. It makes him roll into it until Maru’s mouth just feels like a miracle he can dart his tongue into in tandem with the way Koki drags himself up and down at a hot, greedy pace. The blend of these makes Kame think Maru could barely about touch him and he’d come from it, raked tight and thin between them. The sounds he’s making, crushed against Maru’s full lips now nearly embarrass him.

“Kame-chan…” Koki says, voice a little growl against the back of Kame’s neck. Kame can feel within the space of these minutes how his insides heat up, a near agony with Maru teasing him, effortless, tender, and distant all at once. He probably whines, he’s not sure; the grate of his own vocal chords, rocking between Koki’s hardness and Maru’s slow hand.

“Please, Yuichi,” he gasps finally, hovering over Maru’s hot mouth. The dance of Maru’s fingers up and down, languid over Kame’s scrotum down between his thighs is the harshest thrill, iron burn of his heart almost caught in his throat. Kame’s fingernails curl into the now sticky paint, fingers sliding down in magnolia smudges when Maru’s cups his cheek, angling his tongue to slip cruelly over the tip of his.

Kame feels warmth pool as Koki rocks behind him, shock, disjointed press of himself, grabbing at Kame’s hips to pull him back harder against him, using Kame’s ass as delicious pressure. Koki makes aching breaths of release with his climax roaring through in hungry shudders.

“Just– oh god– please,” he moans against Maru’s jaw just as Koki bites at the back of his shoulder.

Koki goes limp behind him before pulling away and a minimal second glances past before Kame hears the tarp beneath them rustle. Still making pained noises of deep arousal and a desperate need for a finish, Kame spots Koki kneeling right in front of Maru. He peels open the front of Maru’s coveralls with his teeth and Kame could come from that image alone if it weren’t for the sharp delicious ache of Maru cupping his balls again.

He hears a hungry slurping noise, indicating Koki’s effort to get a mouthful of Maru’s cock.

It’s when Maru groans harshly, a hiss over Kame’s lips that Kame realises this is what he was waiting for. And it’s confirmed as Maru closes his fist finally– moist with perspiration– around Kame’s cock, tugging it slowly, tightly with a perfect swallow of his smooth palm. With each shucking noise of Koki’s mouth, Maru slides his fist, taking him in and out. He makes room by flexing his wrist against the waist of Kame’s shorts, dragging Kame’s cock in an almost rough downward motion; the elastic of Kame’s shorts snap back under his cock. His moans go high-pitched.

“Ah,” Maru hisses and Kame hears Koki go faster, slick, carnal breaths and wet licks cracking in the silence of the room.

Kame feels it grow inside him, from the middle up only to tumble downward again. It’s a heat so powerful that it’s almost a blank while he rocks into Maru’s fist, his palms edging up the wall. Koki’s mouth must be making Maru crazy because he speeds up, but at no definable pattern, just fiery glides over Kame’s cock, quick in the way that it can only be during sex. Kame bows his head, still rocking and out of the corner of his eye he sees Koki doing something with his throat and jaw, lips closing around the very hilt of Maru’s cock. Maru makes a keening sound, squeezing Kame so tight and sliding upward at the same time.

It surprises him, the deafening seconds of it, slicing him forward and raining a perfect release up his veins. He gasps, trying not to collapse against the wall, but his cock twitches out of the end of Maru’s fingers, a scattered small splatter, pearly and hot right over wet paint. It’s deep and raking like he did it to himself. It’s the angle Maru holds him at while the delirium Koki is giving him is still burgeoning, makes Kame’s come, sticky as the paint, splatter the wall.

Kame thinks he mutters something, limp, out of Maru’s hand as he hits his knees, painted hands now on the tarp. He’s still panting as Maru curls his hand around the back of Koki’s neck, undulating fiercely, visibly close to own climax. He curls into Koki when he comes and Kame from the floor sort of watches this in a dazed awe, watching Koki pull back and then swallow like its nothing. Maru comes down from his high, brushing his fingers over Koki’s Astroturf head affectionately.

“We’ll need to repaint this one,” Kame says a bit resignedly.

It’s Koki, massaging his jaw, who laughs, going useless as he falls back on his heels. “That might be more your sort of shade!” he guffaws, eyes shut with mirth.

Maru stares at the wall caught between scandalised horror and maybe a little sheepish guilt. Kame examines his palms– completely caked with wet paint– before reaching over and pressing one neatly over Koki’s cheek. It’s a perfect handprint and it looks like he was slapped quite cleanly.

Maru starts laughing.

Kame thinks he’ll probably repaint his walls steel blue. It’d suit him better than  _magnolia_  or… even pearl.

> 4\. (just a taste to drive you wild)

She’s even more beautiful than the bride.

Kame had sat through the entire wedding with his back straight in perfect posture, dark suit crisp and hands neatly folded in his lap – and his gaze solely trained on her out of his peripheral vision. It wasn’t a crush, exactly; more like an unattainable goal. Normally that would be offensive to a girl, but Kuroki Meisa wasn’t any ordinary girl.

She had invited Kame to her friend’s wedding because they were like-minded in that way. Kame works too much to uphold any kind of relationship that lasts longer than a night and Meisa doesn’t like to be tied down. They’d had so much fun filming together and mocking what a lovesick fool Kousaku was, but that was the extent of their camaraderie. Until she’d contacted him out of the blue to escort her to this event, that is.

“You must really like her,” was Kame’s response. “Doesn’t marriage go against everything you stand for?”

She’d laughed and smiled. “To each their own.”

Now she sits in the next chair, fingering her flute of wine as she engages in polite conversation with some friend of the bride’s family whose name Kame hadn’t bothered to remember. He’s still watching her, long, straight hair cascading down her shoulders, the black contrasting with the cream of her simple dress. The material is thick and Kame wonders if she’s wearing black lingerie under it in subtle protest.

“Thanks for coming,” she says, and he belatedly realizes that their company is gone and she’s speaking to him now. “It saves me from fighting with people who give me pity looks for coming alone.”

“Anytime,” he tells her, keeping his voice even. “The food is worth it.”

He’s only half serious, and she laughs again. Somehow her laugh washes away all of the stress and worry in his life. For a second, he forgets he’s an idol with obligations and feels like a regular guy hanging out with his amazing female friend. His amazingly  _hot_  female friend.

“Aw, they’re cutting the cake,” Meisa says mockingly; Kame doesn’t even follow her eyes. “Breeders are an interesting species.”

He watches her watch them like they’re a particularly fascinating documentary on television. Finally she sighs, like she’s the one pitying  _them_ , and Kame smirks. “You don’t ever want to have that?”

The noise Meisa makes sounds like a cross between a deflated balloon and a whoopee cushion, and it’s so unladylike that Kame snorts equally as unattractively in laughter. He only feels a little shame at the outside eyes that glare crossly at them; what a pair they make in such a classy place.

“You couldn’t pay me to put up with some guy’s shit every day,” Meisa tells him. “It’s just not worth it to me. I’m fine on my own. When I want a male companion, I call you.”

Kame’s pride swells more than it should at that sentiment. “I’m flattered.”

“Don’t let it get to your head,” Meisa warns. “You want cake?”

“Sure.”

Meisa signals a waiter, who brings them two small dishes of wedding cake. It’s pure vanilla with what looks like butter cream filling and intricately-designed flowers made of icing. Kame starts to reach for a fork, but then one appears in his face with a bite of cake and Kame follows the slender arm up to Meisa’s devious eyes.

Automatically he opens his mouth, and there’s barely enough time for him to close his eyes before his nose is smashed with gooey sweetness, followed by girlish giggles and soft fingers spreading the mess onto his cheeks.

“Cute,” he mutters, reaching up to scoop some of the frosting into his mouth. “It’s good.”

The soft sounds of her laughter relaxes him, makes him forget about the other guests who are undoubtedly shaking their heads at their immaturity and possibly clicking cell phone pictures for the tabloids. Ironically, it would be his most favorable rumor as of late.

“Come on,” Meisa whispers. “Let’s go wash it off.”

She grabs both of his hands, leading him blindly away from the table, and he honestly thinks she’s going to guide him right into the men’s room. He wouldn’t put it past her to be that bold. Except that the room she shoves him into is dark and the wet flick of her tongue is bolder than anything else as she licks at the cake on his face like that’s the correct way to eat it.

“Meisa,” he starts, his voice a rush of breath and it’s a little sexier than he intended – or he’s just feeling it. “What are you doing?”

“Receptions are boring,” she whispers against his skin, now pressing her lips to his face after clearing the mess.

She runs her tongue along his lips and he gasps. “Don’t start something you won’t finish.”

“I don’t start anything I won’t finish,” she replies, her tone promising as she presses her body against his and kisses him properly.

All Kame can do is kiss back, tasting more of that delicious cake as he accepts her tongue into his mouth and swirls his own around it. His hands rest tentatively on her waist, and when she doesn’t stop him, he tightens his grip and pulls her closer. The heat of their kissing is enough to arouse him, his pants becoming more restricting with each grind against her hip.

“Kazu,” she moans into his mouth, rocking toward his hardening groin. “I think you know what I want.”

“I do,” he tells her, his hand slipping down to her thigh when she lifts her leg to wrap around his. Her skin is smooth and tempting, trembling beneath his touch, and Kame slowly inches his fingers upward until it’s obvious she’s not wearing anything underneath the dress. Her moist splatter of need meets his fingertips and makes him groan deeply into their kiss.

He thinks about how she crossed her legs throughout the ceremony, how short her dress is and how it must have felt to be so exposed while no one else knew. He wants to continue his journey and touch her, push his fingers inside her and rub that little ball that’s probably swollen and begging for attention, but he’s waited too long for this and refuses to waste it.

“But not here,” he adds firmly as he pulls back his hand. “I don’t fuck in closets.”

She pauses, leaning back enough to glare at him, and it’s hotter than Kame’s ever seen her before. “And what,” she begins huffily, “makes you think that you get to decide what happens here?”

A deep breath is enough to calm him, years of working around sexy people finally coming in useful as he steps back from her. “Because I have what you want,” he tells her. “And if you want it, you know where I live.”

Meisa scoffs indignantly as he walks around her, right out the door and through the lobby into the night. The crisp air cools him off, his chin high as he hails a taxi and arrives at his apartment building without incident. He’s well aware that he just turned down sex with Kuroki Meisa, but he knows her well enough to know that she won’t leave it at that. What Meisa wants, Meisa gets.

Regardless of that, he’s still surprised enough to jump when the elevator doors of his building open to show her waiting inside. Her glare could freeze air, but Kame notices how her legs are crossed standing up and the fierce red tint on her face that isn’t from the weather.

“How did you beat me here?” is all he asks.

“I’m fucking magic,” she growls, and Kame smirks as he presses the button for his floor and stands next to her.

It’s not that long of a ride, but the tension in the air makes it excruciating. Kame folds his hands behind his back for the inevitable camera, one of them continuing down the back of Meisa’s thigh where surveillance won’t see. She squirms a bit but remains firmly clutching her purse, staring straight ahead like nothing was happening.

Kame bites his lip to hide a smile as he nudges her thighs uncrossed, picking up where he left off from a different angle. This time he doesn’t stop, taking in Meisa’s suppressed gasp when he spreads open her wet lips and presses his fingertip to her protruding clitoris. He feels her shudder, both against the pad of his finger and standing next to him, and he barely starts to rub in a tiny circle before the elevator dings its arrival at his floor.

Casually he pulls his hand away, catching her eye as he brings it up to his mouth and pushes that same finger past his lips. He sucks up the taste of her and it infiltrates his senses, making him want more and barely containing himself until he lets them both inside his apartment.

They both attack at once, like two animals in the wild and it’s a miracle they make it to his bed, mouths fused together and clothes partway pulled off as she falls on top of him. Kame unzips the back of Meisa’s dress and she pulls it over her head, leaving her in nothing but her jewelry and instantly his hands are on her everywhere at once. Her nipples are hard between his fingertips and her thighs part for his other hand, two fingers slipping inside her and curling to make her buck against them.

“ _Kazu_ ,” she moans into their kiss, her own fingers rushing to unfasten his tie and the buttons on his shirt. She’s a little rough and he thinks one of the buttons actually pops off, but it’s replaceable and worth the sacrifice to feel how badly she wants him. The tails of his shirt are yanked out of his pants, the entire thing pushed off his shoulders leaving only his tie in its wake, and Meisa moves down to whip his belt out of the buckle and open his pants.

Her hand feels like silk around his cock and he groans at the contact, fingering her faster and moving his thumb up to rub her clit. Now she cries out, tearing her mouth away from his and pressing her face into his neck, her whole body rocking against him as she strokes him firmly. It feels good and it wouldn’t take much to put on a condom and thrust up into her, bury himself inside her and give her what she wants, but he’d had a taste of her and refused to leave it like that.

She makes a frustrated noise when he withdraws his fingers, but then he’s tugging on her hips and once she figures out what he wants, she happily scoots up his body and straddles his face. Her scent surrounds him and it’s intoxicating, his fingers locking in both cheeks of her ass to spread her open, his tongue darting out to lap at her. Her thighs quiver around his face and he feels her body contract against his chin, licking faster as her clit starts to twitch against his tongue.

“Ka-Kazu…”

His fingers return inside her just in time for her to come, her juices covering his mouth and hand as she  _screams_  his name and shudders. Kame continues to flick his tongue until she pushes up, falling to the side and catching her breath while Kame wipes his face.

“Was that what you wanted?” he asks facetiously, smirking at the way her eyes darken.

His shoulders bounce against the mattress as she pins him down with both hands, swinging her leg around his waist and Kame scrambles for his pants to grab a condom. She’s one step ahead of him, reaching in her purse and retrieving a foil packet, which she opens with her teeth while staring down at Kame with lust in her eyes. They continue to lock eyes as she rolls the condom onto him, his hands lifting to her thighs as she guides him inside her.

“Meisa,” he breathes, followed by a rush of air as he feels her all around him. Her inner muscles are still clenching from her orgasm, now squeezing every inch of him inside her. His hands make fists on her thighs as he resists the urge to grab her by the hips and pound into her, to forget all formality and fuck her until they’re both panting for breath.

Then she kisses him, her tongue sweeping inside his mouth and she has to taste herself, the thought making Kame even hotter as he kisses her back and starts to move. He feels her moan on his tongue as he rocks up into her, his fingers splaying on her thighs to hold her steady. She takes his tie in hand and tugs on it, his groan vibrating his whole body and he can’t hold back anymore, heat spiking throughout his entire body as he thrusts forcefully enough to make her bounce on top of him.

She rides him hard, pushing down as he pushes up and taking him in deeper, but it’s not enough and he nearly rolls them right off of the bed as he throws her down on her back, looping his arms around her knees and taking her that way. Her breaths become staggered and laced with moans, quickening along with Kame’s speed as he buries himself inside her over and over again.

“God, Kazu,” she gets out, her body trembling in prelude to another orgasm, which tightens even more around Kame’s cock and has him grunting and racing for release.

Something like a bright light flashes behind his eyes as he comes, feeling it in the tips of his fingers and toes as her muscles milk him for all he has. He manages to pull out of her, disposing of the condom in the conveniently-placed trash can next to his bed and flopping onto his back, exhausted.

Next to him, Meisa’s chest heaves as she stretches out her legs. “I have another friend who’s getting married next month,” she says breathlessly.

Kame’s already penciling her in.

> 5\. (because the silently falling snow is someone’s words of love )

The world is a snow globe, whirling around so fast that Kame has to squint to see in front of him.

“Looks like we’re caught in a blizzard,” Ueda observes from next to him. His voice is calm, collected, followed by a chuckle of amusement that makes Kame roll his eyes because that much is obvious.

“We can make it,” is all he says, straightening his shoulders in preparation to trudge through the snow. It’s not a matter of  _can_ ; they have to. He has work to get back to. He’d only opted to meet Ueda for lunch because the older member was in the area.

Neither expected the snow.

Kame watches it fall down, slowing to a stop in defeat as he mentally rearranges his schedule before his hand even reaches for his phone. His manager will be upset with him. He’ll have to get up even  _earlier_  for the rest of the week. He’ll look unreliable.

And Ueda’s whistling like he doesn’t have a care in the world. He probably doesn’t, Kame thinks bitterly. The off-key tune seems like an appropriate accompaniment to the dreary day and falling sky, which has Kame sighing from the irony of it all.

He’s promptly beaned in the face by something wet, round, and very, very cold.

Ueda hiccuping laughter under the heavy screams of the icy wind around them burns more than the cold. Kame uses his sleeve to get the slush off his cheeks. The rest of it melts, trailing uncomfortable cold trails down his nose and lips. “ _That_  was mature,” he snaps, some kind of venom lining his tone, stronger than he expects.

Ueda pulls his hood up, hopping sideways in a strange little dodging dance. “It’s just snow, Kame.”

“Say that when you catch pneumonia,” Kame begins, but he isn’t in the mood for a spat so he just shakes his head and pulls his cap low. He stares out at the flood of drifting flakes all whirling up in distant patterns, already blanketing the ground. “Are we in a parking lot?”

“Dunno,” Ueda mutters distractedly from somewhere behind him.

“What are you– oof!”

This time the snowball explodes over the left side of his face, much more substantial, blinding him with cold rivulets as he stumbles back from the impact. “What the hell!” he demands, but his words are only punctuated by whatever he trips over, sliding sideways to the ground in an undignified heap.

Ueda doubles up, holding his sides as he chokes with louder chuckles. “Your…face when you fell.” His shoulders shake, eyes shut; everything about him, the laxity of his posture and the languid way he straightens is without any single immediate worry. “Oh,” Ueda sighs. “I could watch that all day…”

He doesn’t intend for it to be that much of a rebuttal, but it’s still disappointing when the handful of snow only strikes the arm of Ueda’s coat, crumbling down in cold tufts. It’s hard to see Ueda’s subsequent expression in the cascade of flurries swimming but from his tone as he says, “Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be?” It’s like velvet, low and a little dreamy, but muffled from the drone of the wind.

Kame doesn’t expect to be tackled either.

They haven’t fought in years. Kame feels their relationship is injected with too much rationality for that to happen ever again. This feels different though. Ueda is trying to get snow in Kame’s jacket and he’s laughing while Kame, still trying to register the blind impact of having Ueda straddling his back– gloved fingers curled into his collar– can only grapple, eyes shut and trying to roll over. It’s moments, minutes, maybe only seconds before he realises that the helpless peals of laughter are his own.

He manages to turn onto his back, ignoring the nagging concept that Ueda let him, and considers surrendering. Their strength is well matched, in Kame’s opinion, but he doesn’t much feel like a physical brawl right now, even if it’s playful. His clothes are wet and cold from rolling around in the snow, he’s irritated because he’s  _late_ , and dammit his face stings from where the snowballs hit him.

Suddenly his shivering lips are calmed, and it takes him a second to realize it’s because they’re covered with warm ones. They’re Ueda’s, they have to be, and Kame’s so startled that he gasps, which Ueda takes as invitation to continue.

His tongue is even hotter, flicking against Kame’s and Kame forgets about everything else as he slides his arms around Ueda’s shoulders to pull him closer. His meetings and obligations fly out of his head as Ueda’s breath puffs on his cheek, his own hands resting on Kame’s sides until they slip out of their gloves and sneak under his coat.

A noise unlike anything Kame would ever admit to escapes his lungs at Ueda’s ice-cold fingers on his skin, followed by another deep chuckle that’s much less annoying when it’s vibrating his tongue.

“You’re going to catch hypothermia,” he hisses into their kiss, only a little serious as he takes Ueda’s bare hands in his mittened ones.

“You would choose that point to focus on here,” Ueda replies, and Kame feels him smiling against his mouth before pulling away.

Kame bites his lip to keep from making an embarrassing whine at the chill returning to his lips, but then he feels another touch on his belly that isn’t cold in the least. His eyes pop open in disbelief, blinking at the flurries that continue to fall down in time with Ueda’s lips on his skin, his (cold, cold) fingers working to unfasten Kame’s belt before his brain can catch up with him.

“W-w-wait,” he says voicelessly, closing his hand over Ueda’s, only clear about anything because he’s shivering.

“Wait for what?” Ueda demands incredulously.

At this point the snow has seeped into Kame’s coat and as much as his senses are driving him to just keep leaning into the ardent brush of Ueda’s fingers, he knows there’s no way this is happening successfully out here in a blizzard with both of them shuddering like this, only bright-eyed from the burgeoning fever.

“I’m not doing this here,” he says, finding his lips are already numb as he struggles to form the words.

The wind is in his ears and it strikes like just a blank deafening silence quite disarming since Kame meets Ueda’s eyes, a little dazzled the way flecks of frost remain scattered in his eyelashes. Ueda’s dark gaze is contemplative, but unreadable before he sighs, sitting back on his heels to let Kame get up.

Walking toward the other set of buildings not far in the distance is just as silent. Kame makes a futile effort to dust the snow off but he’s already soaked. Ueda doesn’t seem at all interested in taking up casual conversation. Of course not. He’s never been like that, never frets over details, really.

They reach the parkade and Kame can feel the water in his socks, but that’s not what’s making him feel miserable. He takes off his cap, shaking the remaining water out of his now curling hair as they turn the corner to where they’d parked side by side.

“It’s a bit warmer in here, isn’t it?” Ueda finally remarks, tone strangely complacent.

“I’ll be warmer once I get out of these wet clothes,” he returns curtly without thinking.

He’d later wonder whether it was those words that seemed at all like an invitation or if Ueda had had this in mind from the moment he let Kame up. All the same, the cement wall against his back hurts for perhaps a minute but then he goes half-comatose the moment Ueda slides his tongue over his bottom lip, coaxing his mouth open. Fists over his jacket lapels and a hard body practically roams over his own, mouths clouding up steams of breath as they both gasp.

Those fingers return to his waist and cold knuckles bump against his abdomen, but Ueda’s quick and Kame hisses when the zipper of his tight, wet pants is lowered over a bulging erection he didn’t know he had. But his instincts are faster than his brain, and his hand is around Ueda’s wrist in an instant.

“Don’t you dare,” Kame huffs, skipping the embarrassing words  _touch it_ , “… with those cold hands.”

Ueda’s eyes seem to narrow even more, darkening enticingly as the corners of his lips lift up into a smirk and Kame wonders what he just got himself into. Then Ueda disappears from his vision and Kame’s eyes follow him down, widening in amazement as Ueda kneels before him and takes care to only make contact with something much, much warmer.

The inside of Ueda’s mouth is like heaven and Kame can’t control his breathing, his harsh exhales distorting the view of his cock disappearing past Ueda’s thick lips over and over again. His breaths become audible and his balance unstable, a hand dropping to Ueda’s hair for something to grab onto.

His fingers twist in the red locks and a low groan around his length has Kame choking on an appreciative noise. His vision distorts and he wants nothing more than to close his eyes, give into the feeling of Ueda’s hot mouth closing around him and his tongue bathing the underside of his cock, but he strains to stay focused.

It’s worth it when Ueda looks up at him with big eyes, caring and daring at the same time, and Kame’s hand tightens. His own eyes slide shut against his control, but he feels an immediate sense of loss as he forces them open, releasing a strained gasp just as Ueda flexes his jaw, pulling him in, appealing the graze of his lips to the very hilt until Kame can feel only a deeper heat, swallowing around him.

When Ueda lowers his eyes, his lashes are still wet from the frost– tender and beautiful like this– he groans gratuitously to shake a vibration right into Kame’s dick, shuddering through him without warning. He loses control then, sliding his hand to the very back of Ueda’s head, trying not to grip too hard as his hips dart into a rhythm of their own volition.

Rising inside him, it becomes a heady weight, flooding his veins while he drives himself forward into a vacuum moisture, closing in on him from the bottom up. He shuts his eyes helplessly then, almost feeling the seconds when it comes careening over him, head lolling back against the wall, fingers becoming boneless as he feels Ueda continue to suck until he comes, mouth only going still when Kame’s voiced whimper peters out.

His breaths still cloud around him as his heart starts to slow, but his thoughts scatter when Ueda rises up, lips pressing against his and it’s a burst of thick bitter fluid. Somehow tasting himself as Ueda’s tongue searches his is a shaking leftover erotic from the way hands dive into his hair, curling in as he laps up his come from Ueda’s parted lips. Their tongues graze, sharing the taste, perfect and total heat.

Ueda moves against him and groans into their kiss, the back of his hand bumping Kame’s hip from where it’s stuffed into the front of his own pants. Kame’s high soars even more at the knowledge that Ueda’s getting off to this, his skin tingling even under the wet clothes as Ueda pants into his mouth. Kame gets an idea and sucks on Ueda’s tongue, slurping more of his own taste while Ueda moans and fists himself harder.

“Wait,” Kame whispers, and Ueda makes a pitiful noise as Kame’s fingers close around his wrist yet again, this time much more gently. “Let me.”

Now Ueda gets pushed up against the wall, more lazily than Kame would have liked due to his own satisfaction, but it’s not like Ueda is fighting him. The ground is cold and wet on his knees and Kame has to tell himself that Ueda did this for him, the least he can do is return the favor, so he puts up with it and focuses on guiding Ueda’s cock into his mouth with his tongue.

Ueda doesn’t hold back, low, delicious moans floating down into Kame’s ears as he takes him in and out, not wasting any time because he can feel that Ueda is close. It gets easier the harder Ueda becomes, and two hands twist in Kame’s hair when he pulls back to suck on the head.

It comes as a surprise when Ueda’s cock spurts on his tongue, but Kame struggles to keep it in his mouth until Ueda softens and falls from his lips. Kame feels stupid with his cheeks puffed like this, but the next thing he knows, Ueda has dropped down to his level and cups his jaw with one hand, bringing their mouths back together to share the taste once again.

When Ueda pulls back to hover just over his lips, still gasping for breath, It feels like the world around them shimmers in; the wind outside the parkade, but most of all the cold. Kame shivers, head still reeling, registering the still heat of Ueda’s body warmth and the searing blizzard breeze rattling in through the cracks in the cement. He doesn’t really want to move, but knows there’s a reason he has to. Some appointment or something. It takes a moment, but then it hits. He’s  _late_.

He pulls away, dragging up his pants with fingers that don’t really want to cooperate. Ueda looks plainly satisfied as he straightens his own clothes.

“I don’t  _believe_  you got me to do this out here,” Kame mutters, still struggling with his wet buttons, ten times as uncomfortable now that they’ve been off.

Ueda zips up his coat, giving Kame a side-long. Kame can’t help pausing to glance back at him.  _His hair’s not even messy_ , he observes.

“Need help?” Ueda mutters, small smile still quirking his lips up.

He doesn’t give Kame a chance to reply as he closes the distance between them, tugging up Kame’s zipper with an alarmingly swift gesture. At his belt he pauses, blinking shining brown eyes in an almost silent reading and Kame is just on the verge of smiling.

It’s just horrible, abrupt, and completely uncalled for. Ueda’s fingers dance up, slide right under his shirt to feather cold, icicle digits across his stomach.

“Ah! You asshole!” Kame shrieks, twisting away and doubling over, arms locked around himself like a violated schoolgirl. He realises seconds later that Ueda’s making a break for his car, only pausing to laugh when he gets his door open.

“See you at work tomorrow!” he calls, hopping in and gunning the engine quickly.

It’s only when Kame catches sight of those wide brown eyes squinted with laughter in the rear view that Kame smiles back.

> +1 (and you decorated my life by paintin’ your love all over my heart)

It was supposed to be a private birthday dinner at a banquet hall in his honour. Sort of. Kame finds it hard to recall how it really all started actually. With Maru bent over him, gripping his ankles with his strong fingers and sliding into Kame with an almost tentative shudder, it’s really hard to think about the beginnings of anything.

It really doesn’t matter anyway. He’ll never have the need to relate to anyone why he’s pushed back on a banquet table, plates shoved aside, plain table cloth riding up under him; halted breaths and desperation like hot salt burning in the air. Never have to think why it was that Yamapi had bolted the doors when he and Jin arrived late.

Maru grunts in a particularly evocative way and Kame slides a little with the force of his next thrust. Biting his lips as the angle goes a bit askew; he looks up at the ceiling and marvels suddenly that he hadn’t noticed the mirror earlier. And they all make quite an image. Koki and Taguchi are having a bit of a struggle, it looks like, but from Kame’s vantage point, Taguchi appears to be winning, already nibbling along Koki’s collar, fingers practically clawing at his belt buckle. Koki, eyes shut, is attempting to look like he’s not enjoying it.

Kame shuts his own eyes as a mouth glides along his earlobe, judging by the music in the low breathy moan that reverberates along his jaw, that’s Jin. Kame hikes himself upward, ankles nearly slipping from Maru’s hold with the next thrust and his eyes fly open when Jin moans once more right in his ear. Jin’s fingers are clawing at the tablecloth with Yamapi rocking behind him, index finger and thumb massaging the hilt of Jin’s cock. Kame turns his head a little to meet Jin’s mouth, groaning as Maru grinds forward a little desperately– probably trying to keep his attention. Jin’s tongue seems intent on foiling Maru’s effort. Lips clamp down on his, tongue gliding along his own in a pure fervour.

Laughter. It’s sort of dream-like. Kame breaks the kiss to see fingers with rough, dark knuckles walking their way around Maru’s shoulders before their owner, Ueda, emerges from behind. He’s kissing Maru softly, tenderly from his nape upward. He teases, tongue darting at Maru’s ear while Maru tries to keep a shivering focus on fucking Kame.

“Tatsuya,” Maru breathes, eyes still fixed on Kame but his arms shake. Ueda smiles and shoots a look at Kame, eyes shining with a rock hard intent.

The table creaks a little with Ueda’s added weight, but remains sturdy when he crawls toward Kame, dragging up more of the silk tablecloth. Their eyes meet again with the promising graze of Ueda’s thumb just over his bottom lip. Not even giving it thought, Kame parts his lips, brushing his tongue against the pad of Ueda’s thumb. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Maru watching this with a hotly desperate gaze.

Sweat drips down Maru’s face as he thrusts, moving harder and faster with Ueda grinning behind his ear. One more lick has him shuddering.

“Up,” Ueda growls, and Maru whines as he reluctantly pulls back.

Ueda slides one hand up the back of Kame’s head, gently threading fingers in his damp hair, while the other snaps the condom off of Maru. A whine sounds from Maru, but it instantly deepens into a moan as Ueda strokes him and brings both of his hands together.

“Kazuya,” Maru gasps, and Kame watches his face contort in orgasm until it occurs to him that he should close his eyes.

The first stripe of hot, thick liquid to his cheek is like a brand; Kame feels bonded without ties, the warmth spreading through his body as the next droplets hit his chin. He stretches out his neck in search of more,  _needing_  more, but the only other thing to touch his face is Jin’s tongue.

“No,” Ueda says firmly, yanking Jin back by his hair. Jin whimpers until Yamapi kisses his scalp. “We’re not done.”

Kame peeks open his eyes to see Maru practically held up by Ueda, body completely slack and staring in disbelief at what he just did to Kame’s face.

“Beautiful,” Ueda mumbles, and Maru nods with his entire head. “My turn.”

It’s not graceful by any means, but that just makes Kame feel more comfortable as Maru stretches out behind him and Ueda settles between his legs. A crinkle of latex and Kame’s full again, bouncing from the force and leaning further back onto Maru’s chest. He tosses his head back when Ueda hits that spot inside him and big, thick lips press against his, partially upside-down. Not Jin; Maru kisses nothing like Jin, much slower and exploratory in contrast to Ueda’s sharp pounds inside him.

A nose pokes between them and  _that’s_  Jin, panting into Kame’s skin from the force of Yamapi’s sexing as he nearly claws them both for attention. Maru has always been soft for Jin and abandons Kame to kiss him properly, leaving Kame to struggle to focus on Ueda and the two shadows that have appeared on either side of the older man.

It’s like a communication goes unspoken with the timing of Ueda’s rolls pumping Kame and the way his head falls back on the table just in time to make eye contact with Taguchi to his right, one hand pushing the waist of his jeans down with the other stroking his cock in careful, tight slides of his closed palm. His hard slick cock is practically at eye-level with Kame—a pearly drop of precome quivering at the tip where he doesn’t touch, and Kame feels a little spark of shame as a tingle of hope manifests, thinking of the taste of it, how warm it’ll feel if Taguchi would angle it correctly. Once Taguchi notices Kame looking at him– eyes hope fever-bright, breaths coming in vocal gasps—Taguchi’s eyes crinkle into amused slits as he rocks into the hole of his fist.

“ _Faster_ , Koki,” Taguchi breathes and Kame gazes up at the three of them interchangeably, bracing his hands on Ueda’s forearms, and catches the blazing glance Koki raises to Taguchi at those words. The rhythm they both take soon is like a rehearsed dance in a practice they seem to have done together quite often; becoming these strange reflections of each other, eyes locked, preparing for an overlapping manoeuvre, the way they crossover in acrobatic routine. Only Koki’s soft sounds are different coming from the left, desperate, cloying for release.

Meaning to turn and look, Kame shuts his eyes and gasps first because Ueda has shifted his angle, pounding into him and striking something in him flooded with sharp ecstasy. “Nngh!” he cries and he hears Koki echo his sound and his eyes flutter back open still fixed on the mirror, now watching Koki inches away from his left, shirt open, nipples pink, eyes hooded as he runs his fist faster up and down his length. Ueda’s breaths quicken as he reaches up, still rocking zealously, and tilts Kame’s head left with his index finger and Koki makes a half-choking, mewling sound as he grips the tablecloth, hand still working himself hard.

Without thinking, Kame opens his mouth just as Koki groans deep and it splatters, painting his upper lip and the side of his nose. Koki sighs his name reverently while clenching against the head of his cock, making no precise aim, but plastering Kame with hot pale strings of it all the same.

And– god– he’s appalled at himself… at how much he loves it; the look on each of their faces as Koki’s come glistens, drooling down his lips, how he only needs to hear Taguchi’s low, insistent growl to expect it, to loll his head the other way, hiking himself into the furious friction of Ueda’s cock filling him, grunting with breathy encouragement, choking on contact so tenderly sweet. The head of Taguchi’s cock peeks out between his grazing knuckles and Kame only blinks in time.

It drapes his eyelids, streaking over his upper cheekbones in swift, smouldering seconds. Between the harsh, aching breaths shimmering around him in this ecstasy fueled daze, the word “decorated” peters into his mind’s vision and it makes him burn, his senses beginning to ride up higher and higher.

He shouldn’t open his eyes, but he wants to see, squinting enough to watch Ueda lift his arms to place gentle hands on both Koki and Taguchi’s heads. Jerking a bit from the pressure, he pets them both like dogs and they lean towards him, bouncing on his shoulders as Ueda continues to plough into Kame.

“Kame-chan,” a voice purrs in his ear, and it can only be Jin. Years regress with the simple use of his old nickname, and Kame’s slightly surprised to see the Jin of now crawling up onto the table, Yamapi right behind him (and inside him).

“Shuuji-kun looks pretty like that,” Yamapi says into Jin’s hair, voice husky and muffled as he reaches down to pull Jin off. “Sing, baby.”

“I said I can make you beautiful~” Jin moans out, more breath than voice as his body shudders in orgasm. Only Jin would giggle as he comes, fighting to keep his eyes open as Yamapi directs it around Kame’s neck in their most intimate piece of shared jewelry ever.

Kame stretches out the best he can to accept it all, the warm drops tickling as they complete the necklace. A deep groan vibrates the whole table as Yamapi lets go inside of Jin, and Kame looks away when they start kissing like all they know is each other.

Fingers slowly stroking his hair remind him that he’s not done yet, despite the mess on his face and now neck there’s still one more to put the icing on the cake, to complete him. Those dreamy brown eyes center on him once again, so much languor blended with intensity and Kame can feel how much more excited Ueda is. The rock of his hips is beginning to hit a disjointed pattern and his grip on Kame’s legs tightens and every time he comes in for a harsher plunge, it blinds Kame with the immobilising sweetness of it. More, just a bit more and he’ll be close.

Ueda’s fingers in his hair only polishes their friction with a constance. Kame feels Ueda’s hard shoulders under his palms when Ueda bends forward, almost perfecting the angle, his breaths tumbling out of him in groaning gasps. Faster Ueda canters in, pushing against the backs of Kame’s knees with his palms, sliding against moisture in a frenzied worship. The rocking and breathless gasps between them are all Kame hears before, with a deep, shaking moan, Ueda pulls out once more. Fingers rake through the roots of his hair just at that last second and he feels the hot glance of the liquid right at his temple when Ueda comes up on his knees, the thick pearly fluid caught in the tendrils pasted damply to his forehead.

The hot touch of it, the sheer completion of what caves into him, then the heat of the others sated around him and finally the ubiquitous thrill shuddering through them all, Kame can’t hold on and it rattles into him from the marrow up. It deafens him even when the others touch him, finishing him thoroughly. He cries out, tail end of a sob, so deliciously hysterical with how good it feels raking up inside him, his release.

Heartbeats. Seven of them, all beating in different times and rhythms, combining in Kame’s head as his body recovers from this ultimate celebration. Table hard under his sore tailbone, sweaty bodies sticking to his, his face tingling with their combined efforts. The mirror above him shows a blurry reflection of heaving chests and wild hair, and he sees Jin nuzzle towards him before he feels those soft lips on his neck.

Maru kisses his forehead, Koki and Taguchi each peck a cheek, and Ueda captures his lips, each ignoring the mess on his face to show their affection to the youngest.

Behind Jin, the sleeping Yamapi’s stomach growls in a fierce reminder that they hadn’t eaten yet, and a comfortable sea of quiet laughter ripples amongst the men.

Kame thinks it’s okay to have dessert first on his birthday.


End file.
